by Paul Mason
“Thanks a lot, Tick,” Itch complained, scratching himself. “We were out there for hours on super-secret hush! And me with a rash as itchy as a log full of ants – have you any idea?”
Tick stared at the floor.
“Itch, go along and take the food to Nosh. Ask that she prepare you a snack – you’ve earned it. Tick, report to the Council chambers and wait for me there,” instructed Dahl.
Tick handed Itch his collecting bag, stained purple with mulberry juice, and then slunk off down the tunnel, keeping his eyes down. The other yeti were just knocking off work, and it was rush hour. Hardly anyone looked up as he passed. In some dens, pairs of yeti hunched over game boards, scooping up stones from the hollows and scattering them.
In the games hall, a group were flonking dwiles: swinging dirty, sopping rags through the air, connecting with the occasional splotch as they slapped a face. As he passed the library, Tick was pleased to see everyone was too busy reading to look up. He hurried along, hoping more than anything that he wouldn’t bump into Plumm. He wasn’t sure he could face her just yet.
Tick followed the signs to the Council chambers without so much as a word to anyone. He’d never been in front of the Council before. The chambers sat there, empty and grim. Tree stumps worn smooth from the backsides of many elders circled the giant stone meeting bench. Tick waited just inside the doorway, his stomach gurgling with worry. He had a sudden image of Mum doing the same.
In the corner of the chambers, on a wide shelf carved into the cavern wall, sat the carvings, wrapped in their coverings – a lantern full of glow-worms flickering on either side. The slabs that he’d ignored. And, if Dahl hadn’t come and dragged him away, he might have led humans to the sett door himself. Tick whimpered. Foolish, foolish yeti.
You were looking for the truth, said the fly inside his head.
“Go away,” Tick snapped.
Now came the tap-tap-tap of wood on floor as the elders began to arrive. Tick wiped his eyes and hurried back outside the door.
The elders marched past Tick, their faces stern.
“Wait outside till you are called, youngling,” ordered Nagg. He pulled the moss curtain over the doorway. While they waited for Greatrex, the elders shared their thoughts in angry whispers. Tick put his ear as close to the curtain as he dared – he could pick out each of their voices. He’d heard them enough times at sett meetings.
“Is it true?” asked Lintt (she like a ball of fluff).
“We must hear from the youngling,” answered Slopp (he fond of mud). “But I fear he will just confirm the worst – Dahl saw the foolish mop with his own eyes.”
This brought much muttering. “Flouting an uttering from the silverback himself. The shame of it all,” Nagg snarled. “I can’t say I’m surprised – that youngling is always late for work.”
“Taking no notice of what was said,” said Gruff (she with rough voice).
“The whole sett has been put in danger,” agreed Slopp. “Believing humans can be trusted – just like his mother before him.”
Gruff snorted. “Who would have thought?”
“You know what they say: the dropping never falls far from the pigeon,” said Lintt.
“Very true,” agreed Nagg.
From further down the tunnel came the sound of another stick tapping. Tick pulled back. Now his legs really began to shiver. He fixed his gaze on his toenails, just visible at the end of his hairy feet. Soon his feet were joined by four others on the ground in front of him. Big feet – powerful feet. They stopped, and Tick looked up.
Tick had never seen Greatrex looking so wounded, so hurt. He was expecting anger, but this was far worse.
“You’d better come inside,” the silverback murmured.
Beside him, Tick saw that Dahl was also downcast.
Greatrex pushed aside the moss curtain, and took his place at the head of the great stone meeting bench. He touched his hand to his chest, and then to his head, the Council Elders returning the salute, bringing their muttering to an end. The elders found their tree stumps, settling themselves around their leader, who gestured with a trembling hand in the direction of the slabs. Lintt and Slopp went to the carvings and unwrapped them, then, taking hold on either side, lifted them up and carried them over.
Tick stood at the end of the Council chamber, doing his best to keep his nerve. The idea fly went round and round in circles in his head until his brain hurt, but, no matter how hard he tried, he could find no wiggle room at all, no way out of this mess.
“Let us begin,” said Greatrex. “Tick, you are brought in front of this Council to answer accusations most grave indeed. Our Guardian informs us that you took it upon yourself to go to the south face to spy on the humans. He found you in a bush not ten strides from them, peering down on the people as if they were a youngling’s playthings. Is this true?”
Tick found just enough voice to utter, “Yes, it’s true, O Greatrex.”
This brought a round of fresh grumbling from the elders. “You knew better!” Greatrex snapped, his nose twitching as the scent of Tick’s fear filled the room.
Tick tried his hardest to keep the tears back from his eyes. But now down they came, like a stream. “I wanted to find out. About humans. I wanted to show Mum hadn’t done wrong,” he sobbed at last.
“Foolishness,” scoffed Lintt.
Nagg shook his finger. “Your mother admitted the crime herself. This very group of elders passed judgement on her.”
“But she must have had a good reason to go to the humans. Surely she gave you a reason!” Tick wept.
“You dare to question us?” Nagg growled.
Tick shook his head.
Greatrex called for order. “Elders, we are straying from the matter in hand.” He cleared his throat and studied the writing on the slabs. “Tick, you are hereby charged with breaking a direct silverback command. You are charged with neglecting your duties while on a super-secret gathering mission.” Greatrex’s voice rose to fill the cavern. “You are charged with placing the sett and every yeti in it in danger, and risking the very survival of our way of life. You are charged with consorting with humans. To these charges, how do you plead?”
Tick forced a lump the size of a river rock down his throat. “Guilty.”
Greatrex looked round the room. “Then this matter is settled. I think you all know as well as I do that the laws are clear on the matter of punishment.”
Now Dahl spoke up for the first time. “I must be truthful. This does not sit easily with me. Is there no way we can bend the rules a little in this case? Show some compassion?”
Tick lifted his head. This was Dahl?
“Impossible! The rules are set in stone,” answered Nagg.
“Passed down from the times of darkness,” said Slopp.
Nagg thumped the table. “We owe our very existence to the wisdom of the slabs. In these times of trouble, tradition must be our guide.”
“Hear! hear!” agreed Gruff.
“But he’s just a youngling,” said Dahl.
Lintt folded her arms and turned her gaze away from Dahl. “Age has nothing to do with it.”
Nagg turned to their leader. “O Greatrex, I find Dahl’s attitude surprising for the holder of the Rumble Stick. It’s the very decline of the ancient ways that has allowed the Collective itself to wither over time. Surely he must see that?”
Greatrex took Dahl by the shoulder. “This does not rest well with any of us, but they are right. We must stay true to the carvings. He has to be punished.”
Dahl nodded, avoiding Tick’s eyes. “As you wish.”
Greatrex turned to Tick, his eyes filled with tears. “Guilty yeti, by the next sunrise you shall leave this sett and stride off into the world. You will stride for thirty moons and thirty suns. You will not look back, nor ever attempt to return or make contact. Furthermore, your name shall henceforth be Tick, the senseless, so that any who utter it can remember your foolishness.”
Tick hung his head. Now
every fledgling would learn his sorry tale just like that of Rashe, eaten by jackals.
*
Once Greatrex informed the sett of his crime, every yeti grew an ice-cold shoulder. In the end, it was only Plumm who came to say goodbye.
“Wow, Tick,” Plumm croaked. She sat down on the edge of his nest, her bottom lip trembling. “Did you really do it?”
For a moment or two, Tick pretended to pick fleas out of his fur so he wouldn’t have to look up. “When I was out there, Plumm, by the mulberry bush, I—”
“You weren’t thinking is what.”
“But that’s just it, Plumm. I was thinking. About humans. Are they really all bad? I know Mum must have seen something in them. I needed to know she didn’t risk our life together for nothing.”
“So what did you see?”
“I wasn’t there long enough to find out. But there was a human girl who seemed kind. That was something…” Tick’s voice trailed off.
“Where will you go?”
“I suppose I’ll go south. Find myself a cave somewhere.” Tick’s voice began to crack.
Plumm reached over and took his hand in hers. “Well, if I ever find myself there, I’ll be sure to drop in.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?” Tick asked.
“Someone has to,” said Plumm, her voice quavering. “I’ll miss you, Tick.”
“Me too, Plumm,” said Tick.
Plumm gave him a quick hug and, without looking back, she closed the door behind her. Seeing her go made Tick’s heart drop down to his shaggy belly, leaving an aching hole in his chest. He started gathering up his belongings, putting them into his woven sack, his thoughts dark. In truth, there wasn’t much to pack. He decided he wouldn’t bother with any of it.
Tick caught his reflection in the water of the washing pool in the corner of the den. The broad ridge that ran across his forehead; the hair, thick and dark; the tiny eyes a bit too close together; the flared nostrils. He held his own gaze a little bit longer. There was no hiding the guilt. His foolish plan had almost endangered them all.
There was a heavy knock on the entrance. When Tick went to open it, the passageway was empty. But leaning against the doorway was a long wooden staff. It was a strong, solid-looking stick. Made smooth by lots of careful rubbing with sand. Just the sort of stick that would feel good in your hand if you found yourself striding down an unknown and lonely path.
Tick brought the staff to his nose and sniffed. The smell was unmistakable. This was Dahl’s stick. It wasn’t the Rumble Stick, of course, but it was Dahl’s all the same. Now, through the darkness that clouded Tick’s head, there was a little chink of light – like a glow-worm that had lost its way.
Tick made up his mind he wouldn’t wait until dawn. After everything he’d done, he didn’t deserve to stay, to call this place his home any longer. The entrance boulder lay closed for the night but he knew of another way out: the spreading tunnels. This maze of tunnels above the fungusatory was just big enough for a single Scatterer Yeti, on hands and knees, carrying a basket of fungus. Using those tunnels for anything other than spreading fungus was unheard of – but what did it matter? Soon Tick would be far enough away from the sett to be nothing but a bad memory.
Ella woke to the sound of thumping in the air. The chopper! She unzipped her sleeping bag and rolled out, already fully dressed, then strapped on her headlamp and pulled on her jacket. Clambering through the opening of her tent, Ella could see the helicopter hovering above the clearing, sending the yak into a frenzy of stamping. Searchlights bathed the forest in light and the rush of air from the beating blades rattled the sides of the tents.
Ana and Walker were already out, setting off signal flares to mark their location. Ella went to stand by Uncle Jack and watched as the pilot winched down a large crate, swaying in the draught. When it touched the ground, Walker unhooked the clip. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the chopper roared away into the night.
Ella ran over to the crate. She could hear yapping and barking coming from inside. The tracking dogs! “Poor things! Let’s get them out.”
Ana and Walker undid the bolts at the end of the crate and lowered the flap. Inside, three dogs strained at their leashes, yapping and whining. Ella kneeled down and let the excited hounds climb all over her. They were small – hidden behind long, shaggy fur that reached all the way to the ground – some kind of mountain dog.
“Can they sleep in my tent?” asked Ella.
Jack shook his head. “They have a job to do. I don’t want them distracted.”
“Come on, we’ll make them somewhere nice to sleep right next to your tent,” suggested Ana.
She took hold of the leashes while Ella grabbed the blanket from the bottom of the crate. They shepherded the bouncing dogs towards the tents and tethered them to a rock. Ella gave them a pat each, and then went back to help unpack.
The crate also contained tins and boxes of food, mountain-climbing gear and a drone. But right at the back Ana found a rifle.
“What on earth are we supposed to do with this?” she said. “The only thing we shoot is a camera.”
“Relax, it’s just for protection.” Jack took the rifle out of Ana’s hands. “But, if a huge, aggressive monster charges at us, you’ll be glad I brought it, that’s all I’m saying.”
Ana shook her head. “It’s much more probable that the creatures we filmed are gentle, reclusive herbivores. Think gorilla, orangutan. They’re more likely to run a mile at the sight of us.”
“You wanted us to get up close and personal with a yeti, Ana? You wanted more proof? Well, I’m going to get it. But my show, my way,” Jack snapped. “We move out first thing.”
“Fine, Jack, fine,” sighed Ana, marching off.
“Whatever you say, Jack,” said Walker.
As the others climbed back into their tents, Ella went over to pet the dogs again. For all the excitement, they seemed pretty relaxed, lying on their blanket next to each other. She ran her hands over their heads. “We don’t like guns, do we?” she whispered. “No.”
Uncle Jack had never used one on his shows before – not that she had seen.
*
High up on the mountain, Tick’s furry feet quivered. He hadn’t managed to get very far away from the sett when something caught his eye. A flying beast hovered in the air – many, many times bigger than even the largest of the birds found in the forest. This beast-bird made a terrific thumping unlike anything he’d ever heard before, a noise that roared over the mountainside like the worst kind of avalanche. Then the beast shot beams of fire from its belly, lighting up the forest, before rising up into the sky and flying off into the distance.
“The humans,” hissed Tick. He strode as fast as he could to get a better view. Down by the river, they were moving around like beetles – each of them carrying a lantern. “What are they doing?” Tick whispered. Then came a gust of wind from the direction of the river and carried on it was a sound no yeti wanted to hear. Barking. Could it be jackals?
Tick inhaled, trying to pick up a scent. There were at least three of the beasts, maybe more – it was too hard to tell. He shuddered. The jackals from the canyon were one thing, thought Tick, but these ones belonged to the humans. They weren’t here for fun. He scratched his head, eyes fixed on the dancing lights far below.
What do you think is going on? said the fly in his head.
Tick didn’t know. But one thing was certain: he needed to warn the others.
Tick doubled back and strode towards the spreading tunnels. Guilt coated every hair on his body. As he ran, he tried to work it all out – the firebird, the jackals and the frantic activity down by the river. The humans must have seen him and jumped into action. And now they were on his trail, tracking down the sett. The way humans always did, according to Greatrex. But he’d been so careful down by the river. Hadn’t he?
As Tick ran, he wept. Banishment from your home was one thing, but it was another thing entirely to bring the sett to ruin.
When he reached the boulder blocking the way back into the spreading tunnels, he pushed it to one side. Soon after, he was back in the Council chambers in front of the elders for the second time that moon. Hardly daring to raise his eyes off the ground, Tick relayed everything he’d seen.
“Sound the alarm and call emergency speaks immediately,” said Greatrex when Tick had finished. Dahl disappeared down the dark tunnel. Shortly after, Tick heard the mournful howl of the warning horn blowing through the tunnels, jolting each yeti in the sett from their sleep.
“To the grub hall,” commanded Greatrex. “You too,” he said to Tick.
*
When all the panting and puffing yeti joined Tick and the elders in the grub hall, rubbing their eyes, Greatrex rose to speak.
The silverback’s voice rolled over the cavern like a wave. “You know what they say: when you have figs in your haystack, everybody seeks your farm.”
“True, true,” some of the yeti mumbled.
“Fragrant-smelling brethren, we face a grave danger. We have learned that the humans by the river will soon be coming to seek out our sett. They may come as soon as sunlight allows.” The cavern rumbled with anxious burbling and grumbling.
“It’s that fool youngling’s fault!” someone shouted out.
“He was seen, wasn’t he? He really is senseless,” came another voice.
“Hope it’s you those humans get hold of, and not the rest of us,” one of them spat.
Tick kept his eyes on the floor.
Dahl thumped the Rumble Stick and the noise faded away. Burpp (he with sour belchings) let rip, and now there rode on the air the most vulgar smell. Even in his distress, Tick paused to breathe in appreciatively.
“Apportioning blame does not help our cause.” Greatrex threw his gaze over the cavern from end to end. “We must be strong, we must be watchful, but, above all, we must be calm.” He paused. “It is time, dear friends, to abandon sett and seek higher ground. We travel to Staunch Veil.”